Episode 124

After his 20th birthday, Yurian wandered the battlefields without rest.

There were countless kingdoms and territories absorbed in the name of the Bricesys Empire. Though the Emperor would sometimes appear to lead personally, he would quickly vanish once he grew bored.

Yurian knew the truth—that the Emperor didn’t come to the frontlines because he wanted to swiftly end conquest wars. He came to orchestrate overwhelming victories using Yurian, and then ensured no details about those battles would ever surface again. It was all the Emperor’s design.

Yurian infiltrated the deepest parts of enemy lines, wreaking havoc until his side effects took hold. When they did, he would lose himself—and by the time it was over, not a trace of the enemy camp remained.

The Emperor would then show up, fascinated, and handle the aftermath.

Everyone hailed Yurian as the God of War—but in truth, he was nothing more than a killing machine. And the Emperor treated him as such.

Even though Yurian constantly wanted to die, he was ashamed of his side effect—his craving for blood.

Side effects manifest from an ability user’s deepest fears, and the desire to see blood—life’s source—was proof that he feared death. Yurian knew this well.

Though he said he wanted to die, the truth was… he wanted to live.

After sweeping through countless battlefields, he was finally able to return home at 24. There were no more countries left to conquer.

Because of the terrible rumors surrounding Yurian, the surrounding nations had bowed to the Bricesys Empire without resistance. So he had to return—to the Empire filled with memories he had yet to overcome.

“You must wear a mask for the New Year’s Ceremony.”

“I know.”

Yurian held the mask given to him and placed it over his face. The pitch-black mask hid his identity—and he was glad for that.

All adult nobles were required to attend the New Year’s Ceremony unless they were actively at war.

So Yurian couldn’t avoid it this time.

He had been lingering outdoors but gave up on climbing the ceremonial steps, instead resting between the buildings—he couldn’t bear to face people.

“Where are you going?”

“What’s it to you?”

Yurian snapped at his aide and moved away from the crowd. He wanted to be alone. He hated being recognized, and he knew any goodwill people had toward him would vanish the moment they learned the truth about what he’d done.

Once, Yurian had wanted to be loved. Now, he wished no one would love him.

He was the monster his father claimed, born into a fortunate house and merely surviving. Had he been born a commoner or the child of a minor noble with no land—

He would’ve died the day he awakened.

“Your Grace.”

“Don’t follow me. Can’t you take a hint?”

“No, Your Grace. You must be where you’re meant to be.”

Yurian had planned to sneak away from the ceremony, but even that wasn’t allowed. With no choice, he followed his aide’s directions.

Masked nobles glanced at him. Yurian’s massive build—thanks to body enhancement—was impossible to hide. From a young age, such abilities caused the body to grow remarkably. Combine that with his black hair and red eyes—

Anyone would know he was Yurian Leonhardt, the man of terrifying rumor.

Only now did he realize that not even a mask could hide him. It was suffocating.

“Why do I have to be here?”

“You must stand in order of rank for the ceremony.”

“…Hah.”

Yurian finally looked up at the ceremonial structure he had to ascend. The Bricesys Empire conducted the New Year’s ritual in honor of the founding Emperor.

He had to climb the large, elaborate altar built by the first Emperor.

At the top stood the Emperor; beneath him, nobles had to line up by rank. Yurian, as a duke, had to stand close to the Emperor.

“So I have no choice.”

“Correct.”

Yurian sighed quietly and began climbing the stairs. It was clear that the royals hadn’t arrived yet.

The sky was dark, as if snow would fall.

Though it was his first time attending this event, Yurian felt no excitement—only dread. Every time he saw the Emperor, he felt the weight of the blood he’d spilled.

As he climbed, his aide withdrew. Looking down from above, the view was even more dreadful. The nobles below stood with pride, heads high. Some were those who had fought alongside him.

Yurian was thankful for the mask—it hid his expression.

Clutching his chest, he took his place.

Eventually, the Emperor and his cherished princess ascended from below. The nobles, following tradition, bowed their heads in silence.

Yurian, too, lowered his head as they neared.

He could feel the aura of the imperial family pass beside him. A peculiar scent of hydrangea wafted thick in the air.

When Yurian subtly raised his head, he saw a woman wearing black lace like a blindfold. Her long silver-white hair, radiant as only imperial blood could be, flowed behind her as she expressionlessly held the Emperor’s hand and ascended the altar.

Princess Yvonne.

Even with the black lace, her eyes weren’t completely hidden.

Yurian burned her face into his memory, as if imprinting it beneath his eyelids, then let out a breath. For a moment, he thought she wasn’t human.

Her weary, bored gaze shifted to a smile the instant she faced her father, Hildebrandt. That grated on him.

After that day, Yurian couldn’t get her irritatingly false expression out of his mind.

* * *

Even after the ceremonial rites ended, Yurian didn’t leave. He stayed for the New Year’s ball.

Because if she was a princess, she would surely attend a social event hosted by the imperial family.

“Are you Duke Leonhardt?”

“…Yes.”

At the ball, masks were optional. Yet Yurian still wore his. His eyes scanned the room impatiently, knowing the person he was looking for hadn’t yet arrived.

“We met during the Battle of Armenia, didn’t we?”

“Ah.”

Yurian could feel a crowd gathering, likely because of the baron who had approached him. He wanted to run. But if he left now, he’d lose his chance to see the princess.

“Baron Lamphis, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Grace!”

“And this?”

“Ah, this is my daughter! Delilah! Introduce yourself!”

“H-Hello! Your Grace!”

As soon as the baron’s daughter, Delilah, introduced herself, other nobles with daughters swarmed around Yurian.

“This is my daughter, Your Grace!”

“Please take a look at my daughter as well!”

“Your Grace! My daughter is planning a recital soon! Would you attend?”

“Your Grace!”

“Your Grace…!”

Yurian was too flustered to speak. He had only come to see what kind of person the princess was—yet this crowd pouncing on him felt like a pack of wild hyenas.

“Ah…”

“Your Grace!”

This situation felt more overwhelming than a battlefield. He didn’t know what to say, and more people kept coming. Worse, a third of them were young women… all giving him strange, suggestive looks.

“Do you have an ideal type in mind for a bride, Your Grace?”

“Ah, I…”

Yurian was caught off guard by the question. He had never once thought about marriage.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh my! Not even a preference?”

“Preference…?”

“Yes! In appearance, or personality! Do you have none?”

“Ah…”

Yurian thought for a moment, then answered.

“Silver hair.”

“….”

For a moment, silence fell over the crowd.

Yurian realized he had made a mistake—but he didn’t take it back.

“What about platinum hair, Your Grace?!”

“So you like bright hair colors?”

With most of the competition driven off, Yurian looked at the three remaining fathers proudly presenting daughters with light hair.

“I have no plans to marry.”

“Marriage?! Not at all, Your Grace! I just hoped my daughter might become a good friend to you…”

“Friend…”

Yurian was suddenly reminded that he had no friends. Only subordinates, comrades-in-arms, and the Emperor—his superior. That was it.

“I’ve never made a friend before.”

“Then perhaps start with my daughter?”

“…I find women uncomfortable.”

“Then perhaps my son…”

“…Alright.”

Yurian couldn’t bring himself to refuse again, so he reluctantly agreed. Drained, he turned to the baron who had tormented him and asked,

“Is the princess not coming?”

Despite all the time that had passed, the princess had not appeared.

“Ah… you didn’t know? Her Highness never attends events like this. She only appears briefly for ceremonial or annual occasions.”

In that moment, Yurian felt a strange emptiness settle in his chest. It was unfamiliar—and unwelcome.